


the queen's pet

by celestial_txt



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Choking, Collars, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Erotic Electrostimulation, Exhibitionism, F/F, Face Slapping, Flogging, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 5.4: Futures Rewritten Spoilers, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking, Throne Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_txt/pseuds/celestial_txt
Summary: Misija drags her up to standing, pulling at her hair, and holds her chin with the tip of her nails. “There it is,” she says in a low voice. “There you are. I knew you were like this.”“Yes,” Vera breathes, the rest of the world melting away as she seals her willing surrender. “For you, I will be.”The Warrior of Light submits to Misija.
Relationships: Misija Votyasch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	the queen's pet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyiceheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyiceheart/gifts).



> Please pay attention to the tags.
> 
> Additional content warning: at one point Vera has a minor anxiety attack while tied up, but Misija guides her through it just fine to continue the sex.

The way Misija looks at Vera the first time they meet on the shores of the Gangos river, Vera knows she is about to fall hard. It is in the way she is seen under that gaze, the way that she feels completely naked and vulnerable in front of Misija even while wearing her full-length white coat trimmed with fur. 

She cannot understand it herself, something that goes beyond words in her. It leaves her flushed, her tall ears drooping and she has to excuse herself before the meeting is fully over, stuttering out a weak excuse. Misija’s icy gaze and wry smile gets under her skin, and she walks along the shoreline that night, thinking of her lips, thinking of how they’d feel on her skin. She feels utterly possessed, and she feels _alive_. 

Returning to her tent, the bed too damp from the mist rising off the river to sleep, she shuffles and cuts her divination cards, the smooth edges once coated with gold foil but now rubbed off onto her fingertips and washed away after decades of use. Her head is a mess of thoughts, a snarled tangle of that first levinbolt of desire striking through her.

She hasn’t felt this alive for so long. Not since light coursed through her veins, poisoned her blood and dimmed her vision. Only different, so vastly different. It does not entirely make sense to her, and she needs something else to clarify these messy twists of emotions unfurling inside her. 

“What will come of this?” she asks in a low whisper. “What will she be to me?”

She cuts the deck into four piles, and stacks them back into one before she draws two cards. The Hanged One, The Star. She rarely gets them for herself in her readings, but she knows their meanings intimately. Many a time has she pulled them for others. 

She gently traces the outline of the designs on them. The Hanged One depicts a person hanging upside down from a tree, a look of contentment and bliss upon their face. Self-sacrifice, but righteous. If she was speaking to a client, she would say _though no one else will understand why, you do. You see a path no one else has spotted, and though it will cost you dearly to go down it, you have to, because at the end…_

She shifts her gaze to the Star card, a naked woman kneeling by still waters under a starry sky. _At the end of it all, you see restoration of yourself. Naked and vulnerable, but free. You have gone through the horrific sacrifices and ordeals, and now you see the healing welling up, coming for you._

If she was reading for a client, she would smile here. She would highlight that b _elief in what you see, in your intuition and gut feeling on the matter, would lead to this: the precious moment of balance restored to the soul_. 

She shuffles the cards back into the deck, her mind reeling with the images, the portent of promise heady in her chest.

* * *

Vera wants so many things and none of them involve this place. 

The muck and the dirt of the Bozjan front, the exhaustion weaving into the filth that stains her. Everyday she peels off her clothes soaked in mud and grime and sinks into a hot bath. Each night she draws up a new one, sprinkling salt and herbal blends in alongside a helping from the oil vials quickly depleting. Her calf muscles ache from trying to walk in these places. 

Her mind aches with a different kind of yearning, a formula she tests and turns around over and over as she stares at the muscles hiding underneath Misija’s leather coat. 

Out on a scouting mission with Misija and Mikoto, the rains turn it all into a grey sludge. Vera slips and lands in the mud, slipping again as she tries to get up. It’s humiliating and disgusting and embarrassing how she can’t even pull herself up out of it.

As Vera lies in the mud, every slippery movement staining her clothes, she chokes back a scream of frustration.

“Does the prim and proper Warrior of Light not know how to deal with the trenches?” Misija’s tone is almost mocking.

Vera glares up at her.

“You could help me.”

Misija rolls her eyes, smiling. “The mud of Bozja will teach you many things.” She crouches down, walking on it as if it was solid ground and not a constantly shifting mess of dirt. “Here. You need to find a grip with your left foot first.” She guides Vera’s left leg until they find a rock she can press against, her gloved hand firm and terribly warm. “And then put your weight on it. Go slow.” 

Vera does as told, her glare wavering as Misija’s instructions help her rise to standing. Her clothes are a mess, still, but she scrubs off the worst.

“Be happy it’s raining,” Misija says. “If it was sunny and this dried into the cloth, you’d be chafed sore and crying within an hour.”

“I’m not _that_ delicate,” Vera snaps back, ignoring how her legs are burning hot from where Misija touched them.

“No? I guess I have yet to see that.”

Misija thinks Vera is not cut out for this place. She thinks her weak. She sees only the Warrior of Light that Vera wants people to see — or rather, the Warrior of Light that _the people_ want to see. It is not quite the real her. But then again, what part of her is? 

The light has ruptured so many delicate things in her. Plucking the strings of the harp does not feel the same. The stars look almost askew in the sky. The world is both brighter and dimmer, and headaches haunt the edges of her thoughts. She has changed and it truly, horribly, is irrevocable.

She does not know how to navigate this new self, this new body remodeled by light.

They have a run-in with Garlean soldiers and the battle hardly registers for Vera. It passes quick enough, fleeting past her. 

And then Misija calls her _good girl_ when Vera wipes the blood off her chin, adrenaline high from the fight ringing loudly in her ears, and she knows, she just knows she’s a lost cause. She will do anything to have her say that again, anything, and that knowledge sends a shiver down her spine. 

She is well and truly lost and it will only get worse.

In the camp that night, she cracks the seal of a new bottle of oil, filling the tub with steaming hot water. Her skin aches as she sinks into it, scrubbing at her skin until it is raw and shining clean. Nothing old and dead remains, just her emerging clean and beautiful. She rinses her long, white hair out with herbal blends until it smells of rosemary and lavender, and combs it through with her fingers. 

One would easily be fooled into thinking Vera is a delicate blossom. She is _not_. She has her moments, but she can take so much more than this. She always wants to, aches to. She has kneeled many a time to endure the sweet sting of pain on her back and thighs, to surrender and submit. She recognizes the urge, the need, something she thought would never return to her.

And Misija does too. Of course she does, with the way she keeps her eyes on Vera, but the frustrating thing is that she does nothing. Her eyes linger on Vera as she licks her thumb to flip the page of a report, and the visible shudder that passes through Vera’s body, the way her lips part wantonly… 

She has fallen so fast and so hard. But Misija seems content to tease the thought, and nothing more. 

It drives Vera wild.

She struggles to sleep, possessed with thoughts of Misija’s hand closing around her neck to drag her down and hold her still on the ground; of those eyes seeing past the finery and ribbons Vera wears and to see _her_ for who she is.

She is not a delicate blossom. She’s something much, much worse.

It haunts her enough to have her go visit Misija’s tent at night, where she finds Misija reading by candlelight. Her tent is even more sparsely kept than Vera’s, shared with four others who are knocked out sleeping from the heavy duties of the day. It’s just the two of them, their eyes gleaming in the low light.

“Didn’t peg you for a romantic like this,” Vera says in a low voice, smiling as she draws closer.

“You think this is romantic? Strange tastes.”

Vera blushes, but still comes closer like a moth to the flame. 

Misija slaps the book shut, but the noise does nothing to stir her tentmates. “Why have you come to me? Looking for a drink? Mixing with the lowly soldiers?”

“I’m not like that. You think I’m more than I am.”

“That is not what I think, but what everyone thinks you are. They won’t stop talking about you.”

“And you?”

“I think you are far too beautiful to be here.” She catches a strand of Vera’s hair and wraps it around her hand, tugging Vera down to her knees before she brings the hair to her nose and inhales deeply. “You _smell_ like a noble. You walk like one. What am I meant to think, when this is how you stride through the camp?”

Vera bites her tongue. She does not want to explain herself, she does not want to pick through her long history of living as someone else’s beloved in Garlemald once upon a time. It happened. It coloured her entire world, and was then ripped away from her. She has been high and she has been low. Right now, she just wants to _be_. 

“So what is it you want with me?”

“I…”

“You will have to spit it out, or else you will get nothing.” She considers Vera’s expression for a moment, her coarse fingers still in her hair. “Or are you too prude to name it? Too shy?”

Vera licks her lips before she presses them to Misija’s knee, looking up through her thick lashes. She cannot plead because she does not know if she can even say the words, but she wants it, she wants Misija so terribly bad that it is undoing her little by little.

“That tells me nothing.”

Misija takes Vera’s wrists and looks at the inside of her hands. Soft, smooth. The hands of someone who wields magic and cards and astrolobes rather than heavy guns or swords.

“This, however, will tell me so much.”

Misija removes the candle from its iron holder and holds it aloft, slowly tilting it until a big drop of wax falls onto the open palm of Vera’s hand. Vera’s lips part into an _o_ , eyelids falling down, the sting of the heat sending a familiar thrill throughout her body, the pain lacing her nerves with desire. 

Misija does not move the candle, letting the wax drip still, until Vera’s hands are fully covered. “Interesting. I didn’t peg _you_ for one such as this.” 

“I guess we are surprising each other then.” Vera’s voice is thick with lust, and she does nothing to hide it. She wants this side of herself seen. Here, she will drop every pretense and lay it bare.

“Perhaps so.”

Vera smirks up at her, calling her victory too soon, poking her tongue out in defiance. Misija’s reflexes are so sharp and fast, catching that pink tongue-tip between her fingers, holding and pulling it until it aches, until Vera is drooling a little on herself. 

Smug, Misija leans forward and spits in Vera’s mouth, the saliva dripping in a thick shivering string that hits her tongue cold. She shudders, but it strikes like lightning through her entire body. 

Vera meets her eyes as she swallows, and Misija is the one smirking now. She has her in the palm of her hand. They both know it. 

_She has her and she doesn’t take her._

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Vera.”

Vera thinks she might fall apart. She _wants_ to. She wants to beg at Misija’s feet right now, plead her case for being used, but she stumbles outside in a haze and gasps for air, Misija’s taste still in her mouth as she goes down to the Gagnos river.

On shaky hands and knees, she crawls in the shallow end of it and watches the wax break apart and float away from her skin.

Not long ago, she would have wished to give in to the soft currents, to float away too, away from all of this. It would be so easy to.

Now, she wants to stay. She wants to see how far she will go for this terrifying pursuit. 

* * *

The suggestion of what the two of them could be, of what Misija could do to Vera, hangs heavy in the air, a heady intoxication of Vera’s senses. She thinks of crawling into Misija’s tent at night, down on all fours and beg her to ruin Vera, to take her and make her hers. She is possessed with the thought of being hers, of surrendering fully to her touch, to her cruel smile. The dream of what her hands could do to Vera renders her sleepless at night, a feverish pitch rising in her body as she wants Misija to fuck her senseless. 

And yet, nothing happens.

It drags out, the feverish pitch rising in her body. She would do anything to have those hands on her again, inside of her, to take her and shape her and pry her apart. 

Missions blend together as she looks at the shape of Misija’s back, the muscles underneath that coat, and how she would gladly trace out every single curve of them with her tongue if it pleased Misija.

Lost in daydreams like these, she blinks slowly as she realizes what is happening in front of her.

Misija grabs Mikoto, making the move to betray them all. Her long pistol, her cruel eyes, the terror in Mikoto’s face.

Vera locks eyes with her and falls to her knees, throwing her weapon to the side. “Take me instead,” she says, filled with a burning hot resolve, the thought of the Hanged One’s sacrifice pulsating in her mind. 

Misija smiles, stepping up to Vera, pistol pointed down at her. “Now why would I do that? What use are you to me?”

Vera opens her mouth wide and licks a long stripe along the barrel of the gun, the metal taste filling her mouth. 

For her, she is depraved, she is willing to take any risk to be hers, to be taken and kept and used. 

The way Misija looks down at her as she takes the gun as deep into her throat as she can, gagging and drooling around it… She knows it will be. This is the promise of Vera’s body, singing loudly: _I will let you do anything you want to me_.

Her cruelty fits right into Vera. 

Misija drags her up to standing, pulling at her hair, and holds her chin with the tip of her nails. “There it is,” she says in a low voice. “There you are. I knew you were like this.”

“Yes,” Vera breathes, the rest of the world melting away as she seals her willing surrender. “For you, I will be.”

* * *

Blindfolded and hands tied tightly behind her back, Vera is passed from hands to hands, overhearing pieces and words, of how _strange this all is_ , _the eikon-slayer here? Surrendering?_ The Garlean command passes her off into Misija’s responsibility, and with it comes a new kind of status for Misija as well. 

Vera bites the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling, giddy as she is with the madness of what she has undertaken. Despite the ropes around her hands, she feels freer than she has in a long time. 

She knows she should feel the creep of terror up along her spine. But all she feels is the intoxicating promise of proximity to Misija. 

Hours later, rough fingertips untie the blindfold from Vera’s eyes and she blinks in the low light of a carriage, Misija sitting across from her. 

“The mere fact that you surrendered to me… They do not know what to do with it. And that you did it in front of witnesses.” Misija eyes her with a new kind of interest. “I never expected this of you.”

Neither did Vera. 

The carriage pulls out, bumping along the road at a steady pace.

“They have entrusted you to my care.” Misija puts her elbows on her knees, leaning forward. “But is it care you want?” She toys with the strings that tie together at the top swell of Vera’s breasts, a question in her eyes. 

Vera, her mouth too dry to form words, nods instead. 

Misija does not need a second invitation. She pulls the top of Vera’s dress down, the one tailored according to the new Ishgardian fashion styles, and raises an eyebrow at the nipple piercings. She flicks a finger against one of them, amused. “I didn’t know this about you.”

Vera tries to form a word but her mouth is so dry it aches. She coughs, trying to clear her throat and keep her tongue from sticking to her palate. “W… Water… Please.”

Misija holds a bottle out for her to drink from, tilting it back just a little. Still, it spills and the cold water trickles down over Vera’s exposed breasts, causing her to whimper. Her nipples ache with how tender they are in this cold, humid weather.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

Misija wipes a few stray water droplets off Vera’s lower lip, bringing the thumb to her own mouth and licking it clean. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Vera says, her voice still unsteady, raw from underuse. “You think you know. None of that is true.”

“Indeed. I thought the Warrior of Light was pure.”

“At times.” Vera licks her lips, letting her legs drift apart, just a little, a wordless invitation that does not go unnoticed by Misija. 

“But acting like this, one might think you want to be spoiled.” Misija puts her hand on Vera’s knee, and the warmth of it alone has Vera feeling like an utter mess.

“I want to be _ruined_.” Vera can feel how wet she is just from being this close to Misija, that husky voice filling her ears and mind completely. 

“That can easily be arranged.” 

Misija moves her hand up between Vera’s thighs and tugs at the underwear so hard the seam breaks, but she does not care as she slips her hand down, past the coarse curls, fingertips immediately seeking out the entrance between the dripping labia. She rests a single fingertip right on top of it, and Vera feels it so close to sliding into her, but not quite. 

Her cunt clenches, she can feel it moving, wanting to draw that lone finger in. She never knew this about her own body. Never knew it could be this needy.

“You are filthy wet. Go on. Pull me in.”

Vera’s muscles clench and open, pulling, wanting, and Misija’s finger gets sucked inside. Vera lets out a messy moan, mouth hanging open as Misija is not moving herself, just letting Vera draw her in, deeper and deeper. Frustrated, Vera bucks up against her hand, wanting it deeper and rougher and above all, _more_. 

“Ah, ah.” 

Misija pulls the finger back. 

“Tell me what you want done to you.”

Vera whines, throwing her head back in frustration. “Anything. Do anything to me.”

Misija presses her thumb against Vera’s clit so hard that it has her shrieking. “Useless. Be specific. I’m not going to do just anything to you. That’s not worthy of my time.”

Vera pulls at the first debased fantasy that has been floating in her head, spitting it out hoping it will relieve the pressure. “I want you to spit in my mouth and call me a good girl as I swallow!”

Misija pauses. Again, she regards Vera in a way that tells of how she is reassessing everything about Vera. As if she might keep her. She has her interest now, and Vera cannot help but smile a little, daring and greedy. 

“I want you to tie me up—“

“And have my way with you? Boring.” Again, the pressure on Vera’s clit intensifies, sharper. 

Vera grits her teeth. “I want you to fuck every hole I have until I don’t know what other use I have.”

She laughs at that, deep and heartily. 

“Getting somewhere.”

“I… Please. I.” Vera swallows, embarrassed at how fast she is coming undone under this rough treatment yet wanting more of it all the same. Her mind reels as she veers between wanting to beg for mercy and beg for it more, harder, _worse_. 

“You can do better.”

And just like that, Vera cannot hold it back anymore. 

As fast the orgasm is building in her, the words spill out of her mouth, a confession of shame and depravity let loose. 

“I want you to tie me up and make me feel pain, I want you to push me so far that I am lost to the sensation, that all I can feel and think about is that edge of pain and pleasure slicing through me, please I want you to fuck me, I want you to kiss me, I want to surrender to you and I, oh Twelve…” She clenches her thighs, raising her feet onto the toe tips as a tremor seizes her body. 

“Finish that thought.”

“I want to be yours. I want to feel what you’d give me. I want to sink deep in your hands and service you and, please, please please _please_ can I come!” The frenzy in her words wins Misija over, who adds a second finger, the moment stretching out to what feels like infinity as she waits with a hitched breath for permission. 

“Come.” 

Vera comes with a thick moan, bucking back onto Misija’s hand as best she can in the cramped carriage, greedy for more even as she balances on the point of falling over. 

As the carriage strikes a bump she falls forward onto Misija’s lap, who quickly catches her, righting her up and pushing her flush against her thick coat. “That eager, hmm?” She adds a third finger, slowly moving them in and out. 

Vera, greedy and needy, tries to press a messy kiss to Misija’s mouth who instead pulls her hair back sharply.

“Ask.”

There are entire realms where Vera is seen as a hero. Nations that ask for her judgement, for her decisive hand to sway the balance. And yet here, she is humbled, brought down to a wet mess riding on Misija’s lap, and has to beg for every onze and ilm she is given. 

And she _loves it_ , revels in the delerium of it. 

“Please, may I kiss you?”

“You may.”

Vera starts slowly, testing, planting soft kisses along Misija’s chin and jaw, lips closed even as she struggles to calm her breath because of how those long fingers are moving inside her. She can’t, and rests her open mouth on Misija’s neck, tongue just touching her skin. The taste of her skin, salty and earthy all at once, just a hint of gunpowder and all that leather, she can’t help but whine. 

She could lose herself in the curve of her neck forever.

Pulling herself together, she traces her mouth upwards, until finally she finds Misija’s mouth. Her tongue slides over Misija’s closed lips, tracing and tasting, mapping out the shape of this woman she hopes to be crumbled into dust under. 

As Misija parts her lips and their tongues meet, Vera blissfully surrenders to it, strung between her fingers and her mouth. She nicks her tongue on the sharp edge of her teeth and the copper tang of blood passes between them, lost in the kiss. 

They pass the rest of the ride like this, Misija working her fingers into Vera’s cunt, pinching her clit every time she comes on Misija’s thigh, biting her neck and collarbones until Vera sobs for another release. 

She could drift in this cycle forever, she thinks hazily, drifting off into a deep dreamless sleep just as they arrive at the destination, the last thing she sees is Misija’s amused smile as she carries Vera inside. 

* * *

Misija ties Vera’s arms behind her back, hand on elbow in perfect symmetry. “Officially, this is an interrogation,” she remarks dryly.

Vera snorts out a laugh. “Want me to be your scared little hostage?”

The response she gets is Misija’s teeth at her neck. “You’d forget any role you were trying to play pretty quick, don’t you think?”

And she is right, so very painfully right.

Vera stands still, shivering and naked as Misija measures out the ropes, neatly wrapping them around Vera bit by bit. Her knots are practical, not decorative, and Vera remembers a time when she was adorned when trussed up like this. But it is fine. She doesn’t care about being beautiful at the moment. She just wants to be touched and used. It’s such a simple desire, is it not, such a simple wish to fulfill, and here Misija is, _indulging_ it. 

Misija tests the suspension rig by heaving herself up with her arms, kicking the ground to swing from it. “It should hold.”

She loops the ropes attached to Vera’s body through the rings and pulls. Vera lifts off the ground, just a little, and then as she leans back into the ropes she feels herself practically melting.

Hanging in the air, floating free, the tips of her toes just barely grazing the floor if she strains to touch. The giddiness of it all has her smiling wide, giggling as she playfully swings from the way Misija pushes at her. 

After a few minutes of play like that, she grabs Vera by her hips, stilling her movements. Her fingers dig into the supple flesh, kneading and parting, exposing Vera’s holes from behind. Vera arches back into it, already feeling wetness rushing between her legs, hoping and begging for something to be put inside of her —

And then Misija’s hand comes down hard on Vera’s backside.

She yelps, rocking forward, and another strike hits. Her skin heats up from the impacts, growing more and more tender until something tips over the edge and she’s moving back into them, blurting out whines and thanks in a messy litany of praise.

At the peak of that heady bliss, Misija cups Vera’s chin and makes Vera look at her, the rolled-up shirtsleeves baring her strong arms. She pries Vera’s mouth open with her thumb and tilts her head back as she drips spit into it. 

Vera shudders, swallowing and moaning even as Misija leaves her fetch another implement. She holds it up in front of Vera’s mouth, a silent question in the offering: _will this do?_ To answer, Vera leans in to kiss the flogger, tasting the leather with her tongue, and Misija smiles.

“Good girl. Spread your legs.”

Vera does as told, struggling to stand on more than one foot at a time when suspended like this, and still Misija pries them apart further until she’s forced to hold them up over the ground. 

The long strips of the flogger hit against the inside of her thigh and she cries out, surprised at how intense it feels, but soon the pain is drowned out by the rush of endorphins, even as the flogger gets closer and closer to her aching cunt.

Misija pauses, taking in the strain in Vera’s legs, and reaches for another bundle of ropes to pull them up into the suspension rig. It leaves Vera dreadfully exposed, her legs held apart and knees pulled up high. Finishing off the final knot, Misija reaches between Vera’s legs and pinches her clit, hard. 

To Vera’s shame, she comes from that alone, her eyes rolling into the back of her head for a moment as her head slumps backwards.

“Did I tell you that you could come yet?”

Vera swallows, struggling to form words. 

Misija, not in the mood to indulge her post-orgasm bliss, slaps her cunt hard, once, twice, thrice, punctuating her sentence. “Did I. Tell You. To come?” 

“No! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Misija slaps it again, hard enough that it has the beginnings of a second orgasm building in Vera, and then steps back to pick up a riding crop. She meets Vera’s eyes briefly, waiting, and the moment Vera nods her approval she cracks a cruel grin and the crop hits Vera’s cunt. 

Vera writhes, screaming and blubbering out an apology. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“But you did,” Misija calmly replies, even as she wields the crop with razor-sharp precision to find the sensitive nerves on Vera’s body and strike hard. “You did not have permission.”

“I’m sorry I won’t ever do it again, please, I’ll be good, I will be so good for you, just tell me what to do.”

“Learn some discipline. That’s the only thing that is useful to me.”

Vera can do naught but cry out as the crop swings down on her already tender skin, each strike of it setting her body aflame. It hurts, and the pain is so good, _delicious_ even, and she bites her lips, licks at the saliva messily dripping down her chin.

“Can I—“

“No.” Misija cruelly cuts her off before she can even finish asking, pausing her ministrations with the crop to sink two fingers into Vera’s cunt and curling them forwards. 

It’s a test, and Vera does not know how she is meant to pass when those fingertips press against the spot inside of her that has her dizzy with stars sparking off behind her eyelids. 

She is so infernally close, pleasure building and building, her cunt is so wet it is dripping on Misija’s hand.

“Please,” Vera whispers, “please, may I…”

“No. Not yet.”

Misija adds a third finger and Vera starts sobbing, a keening noise building in her throat and spilling out as her body acts of its own accord, torn between wanting to be good and obedient and wanting to come so bad. She squirms away only to then try and impale herself on those fingers, wanting more, feeling her control fraying as she is brought so close to the edge and having to hold herself back.

“Please,” she wheezes, her legs shaking. “Please, may I come, please, I will do anything, please!” The last plea falls from her lips in a scream, and Misija grins.

“Come.”

Such a simple word, holding so much permission within. 

Vera cries, sobbing around words of gratitude that melt into each other as she comes, head slumping forward as she sees just how wet Misija’s hand is. It glitters with her slick in the low light of the Castrum’s chambers, shining and dripping. As the waves of the orgasm ebb out, Misija brings the hand up to Vera’s mouth. 

“Messy,” Misija tuts, shoving her fingers into Vera’s mouth. Vera eagerly sucks on them, tasting herself on Misija’s knuckles.

When she tries to speak Misija pushes the fingers deeper, almost to the back of her throat. She gags and writhes, eyes tearing up. She breathes slowly through her nose as best she can, drooling around Misija’s fingers as she does her best to clean them up.

Seemingly satisfied with her efforts, Misija steps back and leaves Vera gasping for air, long strings of saliva hanging down from her mouth.

“Now this…” Misija uncoils long cords, toying with them in front of Vera’s eyes. “Garlean engineering has some uses not merely practical.”

She attaches electrodes to the inside of Vera’s thighs, and she turns on the device. A low buzz crackles through the air, and causes a pleasant sting to flutter across her skin, so light that it feels more like a tickle. Vera giggles, wriggling in the ropes, until Misija turns the dial up. The intensity has her muscles clenching, the pain surging.

She chases the bliss but then, all of a sudden, it tips over and she yelps, her face contorting as she struggles in the ropes. There is a hum of something else in her, a torrent of things she does not want to think about, like the pain sliced open a thin membrane within her and now it’s all welling out. Her breathing races, hitching in her throat as she gulps for air. 

“Breathe.” Misija cups her face, thumbs on her cheekbones as she tries to make eye contact with Vera. “If it’s too much…”

“No,” Vera says, her voice a fragile string. “Just a lot. Right now. Help me get through it. Please?”

Misija considers, then nods. She puts her hand on Vera’s stomach, guiding Vera’s breathing one breath a time, in and out, even as the electric current continues, Misija even turning the dial up at one point as her breathing slows. 

The memories — _of light surging through her, of losses, of all the horrid things in her past she cannot control, never could control_ — slowly fade, one by one, the pain grounding her. She cannot think on it because the shocks from the electric current nips each thought in its bud before it can blossom fully. 

“Good?”

Vera nods, blinking slowly. 

“Hold out your tongue.”

Vera does as told, sinking back into the mindspace where it is so simple to just obey, to just _be_. 

As Misija removes the electrodes, she instead attaches a metallic cuff to her wrist, flexing her fingers. 

“With some precise application, this can be used to draw a different reaction depending on even the angle or amount of fingers. You know the noble ladies in the capital love this. They love to have a dirty soldier get them all messed up like this. I think you are much the same, the way I see you.”

She puts her index finger to Vera’s outstretched tongue and the surge shooting through Vera has her yelping and laughing all at once, jumping in her ropes even as she leans her head forward for another shock. It pulls the same reaction out of her, a giddy high that has her beaming up at Misija. It’s strange, and new, and oh so _exciting._

“Greedy.”

Vera blushes but licks at her finger, shuddering at the sensation piercing through her. 

Misija trails her fingers down along Vera’s arms, starting with four fingertips at the shoulder and ending with just one against her wrist bone, and the journey of the sensation intensifying has Vera arching upwards, forwards, closer. She knows what she wants, but Misija keeps playing with the rest of her body, leaning down to trace around her ankles, up the back of her shins and skimming along Vera’s ass. 

She circles around Vera’s suspended body, her fingertips never once leaving her skin but fluttering from point to point, each touch a surprise of stimulation depending on how many she has there. Vera lolls her head from side to side, softly moaning.

And then Misija puts just her fingertip on the top of Vera’s neck, slowly dragging it down along her spine until Vera is sweating, her chest heaving from the way it all feels. Too much, too good, and still _not enough_. 

“Please…”

“You want more?”

“Yes. I am greedy. I want it all. All of you.”

Misija presses close to Vera from behind, her hand trailing up over the hip and teasing along the labia, flicking her fingers against the wet folds. Vera squirms best she can, trying to get the fingers to touch the exact spot she wants, her clit aching for the stimulation. It has been ignored so much today and she desperately needs it touched.

All she gets is one swipe of the thumb, and then Misija steps away. 

It’s almost enough to break Vera, who lets out a thick sob, twisting in the ropes, needy and demanding and feeling a coil of anger unfurling at being denied, over and over.

“Why? Why won’t you give me what I need?” Vera whines, snapping her teeth at the air.

Misija pays her no mind, removing the cuff from her wrist and connecting the wire to a phallic-shaped instrument instead. 

“You will get yours when you get it. Not a moment before.”

She oils up the long, metallic implement in front of Vera’s face, making her watch as it is lubricated. She moves it down along Vera’s front, barely touching the swell of her breasts as it dips lower to part the labia. It is hard but not unpleasant as it slides in, filling Vera up. 

As Misija starts thrusting it in and out of Vera, she _feels it_ , a current that hits in intervals, a perfect sting that balances between pain and then pleasure, cycling between the heights that have Vera shaking within a few thrusts. 

Vera’s body cycles through the reactions so fast she struggles to keep up with them. Through it all, she cannot stop _smiling_ , because it feels so delicious, so thrilling. 

Vera is tiptoeing the fine line, her toes curling as she gasps and cries. Her nerves are so overstimulated that she already feels the surging peak within her, her tender body alight with the promise of another orgasm that it has her aching. 

“Please,” she begs, “I need to…”

Misija pinches her clit between two fingers. “You may.”

The dam breaks in Vera and she feels herself melting, her muscles pushing the toy out into Misija’s hands, all wet and sticky. She cannot stop coming, the crash of it rendering her to a puddle as she screams and cries and sings sweet praises, her voice a hoarse mess by the time she can finally draw breath again. Her vision blurs at the edges.

“That’s enough,” Misija says, amusement in her tone. Vera tries to protest but can’t even wrap her tongue around words, and swallows them back. Maybe Misija is right in this. She will allow it this time. 

Vera whimpers as she is lowered down onto the floor, Misija undoing the knots slowly. She runs her fingers along the rope marks, stroking Vera’s cheek with the back of her hand that still smells of Vera’s cunt. Her tongue darts out to lap at the fingertips, eyes big and wet as she sucks them into her mouth. 

Vera lies there as Misija takes her time coiling up the ropes and dismantling the rig. Sweat cools on her body in the chill air, and Vera weakly reaches for Misija’s ankle, twisting her head just to kiss Misija’s boot. 

She has no words left, just a deep desire to be filled up with her, to be warm and kept and used. She lingers in that feeling, hazy and half-asleep as Misija guides her stumbling feet to bed.

Blissed out as she is already, she falls back onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Vera does as told, best she can, a quiver still in her thighs. 

Misija plugs Vera up with a thick, soft toy that has her bucking her hips and dripping around it. Her pussy is sticky with how much she has been used all day, and she is filthy — but above all, she is content. 

Misija touches Vera’s long ears, rubbing along the back of them, and Vera melts into her touch. 

A soft warmth unfolds in her as she drifts lazily in Misija’s hands, a cool wet rag wiping her clean. She is barely awake as Misija gets up to leave.

“Stay,” Vera says, suddenly clear-headed enough. 

Misija stops, looking at Vera curiously. 

“I don’t like to be alone after.”

“You’re technically a prisoner.”

Vera holds up her wrists as an offering. “Then chain me up, whatever, just stay with me.”

Misija doesn’t do that, but she does stay. She falls asleep with her hand between Vera’s legs, two fingers resting on either side of her clit. Vera is too exhausted to even try and leverage that for pressure, drifting off to the feeling of Misija’s hot breath against her neck. 

* * *

It’s a kind of humiliation. The eikon-slayer brought low. The eikon-slayer being a mere plaything for a soldier such as Misija, but enough soldiers defer to her that her rank matters somewhat. 

Vera watches how they firmly avoid looking at her too closely as she is led down a corridor, naked and arms tied up, a chain between her nipple piercings that Misija tugs on to keep her moving. 

Vera would be lying if she claimed it did not make her wet. 

She overhears conversations of troop movements and plans, filing them away in the back of her mind for a nebulous later, a later she does not fully care about. It is not often she gets to just be in the moment, but Misija keeps her grounded in the present. Pain transforms her like that. She can take so much of it when it is dealt by a hand like hers. 

“Torturing her again?” a guard asks as he unlocks the gates deeper into the Castrum.

“As it must be,” Misija says, her eyes cold.

Vera lowers her eyes as the soldier scans her up and down, her ears drooping in what some might read as shame. At least he will not be reaping the rewards of this humiliation. 

Once in the supposed torture chamber, the soundproof door bolted behind them, Vera smirks. 

“So that is what you call it in the reports,” Vera remarks, even as Misija starts uncoiling ropes and tying a harness around Vera’s chest, tightening them under her breasts.

“I had to put _a name_ on it. At least you scream like it might be.” She laughs. “At times.”

Up into the suspension rig Vera goes again, her body having been at rest for a few days. Long enough to recover to the point where she woke up and kissed Misija’s boots, begging for something more.

Of course, Misija doesn’t make it easy on her. Why would she? They both enjoy the game of it, the tease and denial, no matter how big a show Vera makes of hating it. 

Suspended in ropes and ignored, Vera wriggles her hands and feet, trying to swing up a bit of momentum. She is _bored_ , waiting never having been her strong suit. She wants to know, to see, to be touched. The ropes dig into her skin, but it’s just not enough. 

Misija walks behind her, doing things, preparing. Vera tries to crane her neck but she cannot see Misija, her wild and thick hair in the way. She sighs, loudly.

“What disappoints you, pet?” Misija hums.

“I want to see.”

“Not yet.” Misija grabs Vera by the hair, tugging it back sharply. “Will you not enjoy it as you get it, instead of squirming like a spoilt brat?” Misija gathers up Vera’s hair and with a surprising gentleness braids it together, parting it into thick strands that she runs through her fingers. They piece the braid together beautifully. 

“You should consider keeping it short,” Misija says, tying off the end roughly. 

“What would you pull at then?”

In response, Misija tugs at the soft tip of Vera’s ear. “I will always find something.”

Vera’s ears droop, heat rushing through her from that mere touch alone. 

Misija steps away for a brief moment, but it is long enough that Vera whines, much to her own embarrassment. 

“I’m tired of waiting!” she calls over her shoulder. “Just do something to me! Anything!”

“Impatient.” Misija presses herself against Vera’s backside, biting her shoulder. The teeth dig down when Vera moves, harder and harder, until Vera stills herself. Only then does Misija let go, licking at the bitemarks. Vera shudders under her tongue, wishing she would like wet thick stripes all over her naked body. 

Pulling back, Misija reaches for something on the adjacent table. It does not take long for the revelation, as a cool oil drips down the curve of Vera’s ass and between her cheeks, causing her to gasp out loud. 

Misija’s fingers follow suit, pressing and massaging it in until a finger slips into Vera’s ass without resistance. It’s thick, filling, but there is not a single onze of ache. The finger stretches her, working against the muscles until they relax enough.

Adding a second finger, Misija scissors them apart in her, little by little, testing and stretching until Vera is panting with need. They fill her up, yes, but she could take so much more, she could take a thick fat cock right now if Misija would just give it to her, damn it.

Instead, Misija opts for cruelty, withdrawing them.

Vera whines, loudly, bucking her hips back to try and get some of that touch back. It has been so long since she was touched there, and she did not realize how much she missed it until now. And she’s desperate for more, always more. 

“I see.” Misija squeezes Vera’s ass hard, parting the cheeks as a cold metal implement presses into her. It is slightly wider than two fingers, but with no give. It slips in oh so slowly, and Vera relaxes, lets it in, thrills at how cold it is at first and how it begins to warm up to her body. 

Misija threads a rope through the end of the hook and brings it up to Vera’s braid, tying the rope to the end of it. She stretches it taut, pulling Vera’s head back at a tilt, exposing her neck. 

There is enough slack on the rope that she can move her head, but when she does she feels the hook dig in sharper, and her lower lip trembles at the sensation. Not quite full, but with enough pressure that she can feel the slick of her cunt spreading onto the inside of her thighs. 

Misija pulls up Vera’s legs, arranging them. The act of it shifts the metal hook in Vera’s ass, reminding her with each push and pull of her body that it is _there_ , that it will not yield.

When she is tied ankle to thigh, Misija lowers her down. Vera sways on her knees a little, blinking her eyes as she tries to find balance. It’s hard, her body straining against the ropes, and part of her wants to be up there again, but the plans of the day seem to lean elsewhere. 

Misija circles around her, adjusting the ropes one final time, the wait so agonizing. Finally, _finally,_ Misija stops in front of her, pulling on a pair of leather gloves.

“You look good like this,” she purrs, stroking her thumb along Vera’s jaw. “Ready. Yearning.”

She holds up the back of her gloved hand, the leather creaking as she closes it into a fist. “Pay tribute to the hand that will ruin you today.”

Vera bares her teeth, hissing as she strains against the ropes. Each time she draws close to the hand, Misija snatches it away, cruel smile twisting her lips as she toys with Vera.

“Ah,” she says, using the back of her hand to slap Vera’s cheek lightly, but the sting sears into her skin. “Come on. You can do it.”

Vera tries again, but as she leans forward the hook in her ass hits a spot that has her moaning, reeling, her mouth just barely missing the hand.

“Getting distracted, hm?” Misija slaps her once more, a bit harder this time. “Do better.”

Vera strains, gritting her teeth. The hand is just out of comfortable reach, she has to scoot forward a little on her knees, the movement making the hook shift in such a way that she might come if Misija lays her hand on her again. That would be coming without permission, Vera knows as much, and as much as she craves the possibility of punishment she wants to be _good_ , be the good girl for Misija again, get praised and admired and treated like a good little pet. 

She almost misses, a frustrated cry slipping past her lips before she makes it, her mouth pressing against the leather. She licks it, kisses it, looking up expectantly at Misija, her mouth’s every move chanting _praise me please praise me tell me I’m good tell me you want to keep me forever_. 

“Very good.”

Misija runs her fingers over Vera’s wet, messy lips, thumbing at them, pulling them up so she can see the fangs. She presses her gloved thumb against one of them, testing the sharpness. She bends down, forcing two fingers into Vera’s mouth, prying it open fully. She slides them over Vera’s tongue, pressing down on it, spreading them apart.

“I want to map out every part of you,” Misija says in a low voice tinged by lust. “I want to fuck all your holes. Make you mine.”

She adds a finger and drives them as deep into the back of Vera’s throat as she can take it, fucking her mouth roughly. Vera sputters, coughs, but does her best to take them. The knuckles rub against her palate, the leather scrapes on her teeth, and she drools all over her chin and chest. 

Misija does not relent, filling up her mouth, the toe of her boot pressing in between Vera’s legs. Vera does not let the chance slip her by, rubbing her wet cunt against it, trying to get friction against her aching clit. 

“You’re getting it wet.” Misija is amused, at least, letting Vera have it, even nudging it up a little. Vera chokes on her fingers as she nods, each movement of her head tugging at the hook in her ass. Tears well up in her eyes from how ignored her cunt is, how much she needs something in it. 

When Misija pulls her fingers out of Vera’s mouth, Vera cannot stop herself. 

“Please, fill me up, use me, I need you inside of my cunt!” Her voice is more akin to a feral howl than a soft plea, no grace left in her body. Just need, wet and messy, roaring in her veins. 

Misija stands up, wiping her wet hand on Vera’s face. 

“Down on the floor.” 

It certainly is not graceful how Vera has to wriggle herself in place, leaning first on one shoulder to ease herself down before Misija puts a boot on her ass and pushes her the rest of the way. The floor is cold and rough, scraping her chin raw. Misija presses down on the hook, and all Vera can do is squirm and buck, her body tied up all neat and tight, her holes on display. 

Misija’s boot vanishes, and she shifts, her gloved hands running over Vera’s buttocks as she kneels down behind her. She teases only a little, the fingertips dragging over the back of her thighs, flicking against them, before she uses her teeth to peel off a glove and press two fingers into Vera’s cunt. 

“It takes so little for you to get like this,” she comments as she works her fingers into Vera’s pussy, laughing as Vera whines. “How would you feel if others knew even a sliver of how depraved you get for me?”

A fearful but excited shudder passes through Vera’s body. The thought always plays in her head, the temptation of being taken in front of others, of having others _see_ her for who she truly is. And deeper, far away — how much she would love to be put on display, no one allowed to touch her even as she is spread and fucked and used, belonging only to one pair of hands. Owned, put on display, but _safe_ in those hands. 

The world’s judgement would hardly matter to her then. 

Misija works a fourth finger into Vera who gasps and bucks, it’s so filling and stretching that it is leaving her panting. It’s so much, so delicious, so terribly wonderful a sensation. And still, still she wants _more_ even as she feels those thick knuckles rubbing on the thin wall separating the hook in her ass from those fingers in her pussy. 

“Think you can take it all?” Her thumb swipes over Vera’s clit, then presses down. 

Vera is dripping down onto Misija’s palm and wrist, wet and coming, but so greedy that she nods nonetheless. She wants to be pushed further. She greedily wants to take it _all_. 

“Then you will.”

Vera’s muscles draw Misija in, agonizingly slow, stopping at the lowest thumb knuckle. Vera squirms and gasps at how _full_ she is, tears streaming down her face from how good it feels. It’s so slow, her body not yielding fully, even though she desperately wants to. 

“You can do it,” Misija purrs, other hand toying gently with Vera’s clit, massaging at where Vera’s entrance closes tight around her hand. “You could be so good right now. Take it all.”

“I want it. Please. I…” Her mind reels with desire, wanting to fit it all into her but it’s so hard, so difficult to get her body to accept it. 

“Breathe.”

Vera takes a deep breath and — oh, _oh_. She feels it sliding into her, so smooth and gentle. Misija’s entire fist is inside of her pussy and she has never been this full in her entire life, and she thinks she can never go back to anyone else after this because it’s breaking her mind into pieces with how good it is. She moans, shuddering, her muscles clenching tight around the hand. 

As her body adjusts to the fist, Misija carefully shifts the hand, the knuckles on the fingers pressing against the spot inside of Vera that has her seeing stars bursting behind her eyelids. 

She bucks back onto Misija’s hand, fucking herself on it, taking it all the way down to the wrist. She hears Misija laughing and whines in frustration, snaps her teeth, but she cannot put words together, letters fleeing from her mind. She wants this, more than she has ever wanted anything in her life. She can feel herself dripping all over. 

Misija slaps her ass with her free hand. “Go on. Let me see you.” For each thrust on the fist, a slap meets her ass, alternating between the cheeks, until it’s too much. 

Misija pinches her clit, then rubs it gently before slapping it. The pain and pleasure intermingle in a heady mix that has Vera’s control spinning out. 

“Can I…” She swallows, struggles with the words, fucking herself on the fist with a desperate hunger. Words float, out of reach, and she whines loudly. “Can I please…”

“Come.”

Vera lets out a scream as she comes and comes. She shakes, bucking, trying to get more, trying to feel more, the waves of pleasure rippling through her until she’s nothing but a soft mess in Misija’s ropes. 

Through it all, Misija keeps her fist in Vera’s cunt, a smug note in her voice as she watches Vera sweating and glowing in the aftermath. “I think we shall do that again, no?”

Vera licks her lips, dry from screaming Misija’s praises, and nods. 

* * *

“The resistance has come. And so, it is time to escort precious assets like you away.”

Vera leans into Misija’s touch as she ties a blindfold around her head, tight enough that not even a shred of light can get past the edges. She drags Vera along on a leash. It is the first time in at least a week, maybe two, that Vera is wearing clothes, and she feels them chafing against her body in strange ways.

Vera wants to protest as she is handed off to a soldier, but knows better. They don’t speak to her, and she sits in the silence, shrouded in darkness, feeling the stars on the other side of the carriage wall. They are tense, she can sense it, but she does not care.

She knows what she should feel at this point. She is adrift, unmoored, sinking into a darkness that no one else can understand. Not these Garlean soldiers, not the Bozjan resistance. She trusts in herself, her intuition calling to her to stay, stay, _stay_. To go as deep into it as she can.

On the other side, she will emerge renewed.

Her cards and astrolobe are not with her, but they are just _tools_ , facilitators to channel the power she can grasp at already. The stars are still there. Even in the everlasting light of the First, as she marched on towards certain death and breaking, she persisted, leaning on her knowledge that the stars were still there.

The stars will bear witness to her, always. Even when she herself cannot.

They wind deeper into the territories, descending, until finally the carriage pulls to a stop. The soldiers haul Vera out, but before they can do anything further their linkshells ping them.

“What do we do with her?” one of them says. As if she was not there.

“Leave her. If Misija wants her here, I’m not going to wait around.” There’s a sliver of fear in his voice, a tremble that has Vera wondering.

They leave, faster than they arrived. Vera waits until her ears cannot pick up any noise, even as she aches from the sitting on the cold hard ground. Satisfied that they are truly gone, she reaches into the aether and pulls at it, incinerating the bonds that hold her. She pulls off the blindfold and stands up, rubbing at her sore wrists, to behold a place of marvel. A _palace_ , marvelous and beautiful and ruined.

The moon hangs low and full, its clear cold light illuminating a path ahead, and Vera follows. There are crates of equipment, haphazardly abandoned, but not much more. She traces her hands along the walls, stepping cautiously in the corridors. The structure stands tall and strong, despite how many centuries must have passed since it was last in use.

In one circular room, she finds a fresco, the tiny bright shards spanning across the massive walls. Light slants in from above through a hole in the ceiling, and she brushes at the dust and vines covering the mural to see clearer.

The colors are so vivid. Entrancing. Piece by piece, she traces their shapes, but the full image does not fall into place in her mind.

A noise echoes between the walls, and Vera snaps out of her reverie. The light in the room has changed, the pale gold of dawn filling up the sky. She wonders how long she has been out of it.

Reacting more out of instinct than anything, she slips into an adjacent room, filled with bronze mirrors. Large indents in the ground tells a story of what was once here, but now long gone. A treasure room? Everything picked clean except the mirrors, left behind.

There is a shift in the air, almost palpable. The hairs on her arm stand on end, a shiver running down her spine. Whatever is coming is almost here, vast and powerful…

And yet, the only one that steps through the arch is Misija.

“Hiding?” Misija says, a wild smile on her face. “It’s only me.”

Misija smells of gunpowder and something else, something incredibly familiar. A thick current of aether hangs in the air around her.

“What have you done?” Vera asks, curious as she unfolds herself from her hiding place, her nose twitching as she draws closer.

Misija grabs her arms, pulling her into a hard kiss, more teeth than softness, her teeth cutting Vera’s lower lip. “Made everything _better_.” She shoves Vera down hard onto the floor, pressing her down and pinning her with her body. Vera gasps, the air almost going out of her lungs completely, as Misija curls her fist in Vera’s hair and yanks hard.

“Yes,” Vera moans, curling her fists as her body softens, curving into the shape Misija is pulling her into. “Gods, _yes_.”

“If there are gods,” Misija breathes into her ear, “I’d deface all their altars with your body.”

She barely manages to shove Vera’s underwear to the side, ripping them in half, before she presses a thick dildo into Vera. Vera has taken Misija’s fingers, toys, her fist even, but this dildo is pushing her to her limits.

“It’s so much!” She claws on the floor with her fingernails even as she pleads. “Please, I need it all, in me, _please…_ ”

It’s so filling, her cunt stretching to take it all, and Misija has so little patience in her that she pushes and presses, grunting as she slides deeper into Vera. Their bodies are barely flush, and yet Vera knows her body can only give so much more, only be fucked that much deeper. Vera slides a hand down her body, her fingers dancing over the slight bulge at her belly and gasping. It’s so big. She can trace the outline of it, press her fingers against it, and she feels like she is losing her mind.

She laughs, wild and crazed.

And then Misija begins to move, and Vera is truly, horribly _lost_.

She screams and groans, howling like a feral thing, her voice trembling in her throat as it spills out. There are no words left in her, no civility, only the thought of _more harder more deeper more all of it in me now_ that lays waste to her mind. She drools on the floor, too overwhelmed to close her mouth, too overwhelmed to remember how to breathe and be graceful.

“There you are.” Misija holds Vera’s head with two hands, craning it up. Vera blinks a couple of times before her eyes focus, and she sees herself reflected back in the mirror. She is a mess. There’s spit dripping down her chin, tears rimming her eyes. Her hair is a tangled mess from where Misija has been grabbing it, and now her hands close around Vera’s neck.

Vera stares at herself in the mirror, watching her come apart, watches the hand at her own belly. She can see the shadow of the little bulge for each deep thrust Misija takes in her.

Vera wishes Misija would find a way to take her apart until every cell in her body sings with nothing but the sweetly earned bliss of being completely and utterly _fucked_. It’s all indulgence, of course it is, but it makes her happy, it makes her feel things she thought long dead and gone within her.

“Look at you,” Misija pants, her grip closing around Vera’s throat.

And Vera does. She meets her own pale-green eyes as she comes, watches her full lips part and spill out beautiful noises, her white hair a tangle as Misija continues to fuck her, an expression of frenzied ecstasy on Misija’s face. Vera drifts in the haze, Misija fucking her until she lets out a deep groan and hilts deep in Vera before collapsing on top of her, panting loudly.

“I will change Bozja.” She slowly peels her fingers off from Vera’s neck. “Will you stay?”

“Yes,” Vera says, not hesitating. “I am meant to be here.”

Misija eyes Vera, a sober look on her face. “You are stranger than I ever thought.”

Vera juts her chin out. “You will see, you too.”

“Perhaps.”

* * *

“Delubrum Reginae,” Misija explains to Vera as they sit in a bath in the royal quarters, long since abandoned but the water pipes still work with a bit of aether manipulation. “Once the place where Queen Gunnhildr reigned. And now where she will reign again.”

Misija cleans her back and Vera leans into her touch even as the water stings over the red welts on her back. Her body is sore, in a soft kind of way, a way in which she knows she was used and loved thoroughly and fully. It’s a delicious kind of thing. A wonderful kind of state to be in.

“What are your plans?” Vera asks, voice raw in her throat.

“You will see. You will know.”

Vera follows Misija’s gaze to a blade, inlaid with bright crystals, gleaming in the low light of the chambers.

The room is set up like a field office, foldable beds and tables alongside crates. She wonders how long they intend to be here. She wonders what is meant to happen here.

None of this fills her with fear, she realizes. She has stepped beyond that.

She will go where she is called to go. Already her eyes linger on the blade. Already she feels it calling for her hands to close around its hilt.

* * *

Feeling the fires of tempering licking at her temples and yet finding no way in… What a curious thing. Vera revels in the sensation, the warmth of it pressing against her.

The heat of the divine licks at the edges of her consciousness, demanding. She gives, and she feels the bliss of the sun searing through her body as she does. But it cannot _take_. There is nothing of this primal that can grasp onto her, instead it slides off, water on a mirror, and Misija is fascinated. 

“Immune. Strange. Powerful.” Misija spits the words out, but her voice is soft. Fond, even. 

“I told you,” Vera says, gasping as Misija tugs on the chain between her nipple piercings. “I will surprise you.”

“So you have. Useful.” Misija pulls her closer. “Very useful, indeed.”

Teasing her lips, the ghost of a kiss even as she tugs hard on the chain, has Vera melting. And just like that, Misija drops her, lets her fall back on the makeshift bed she has set up and holds up the sword.

“ _Save the Queen_ ,” she says, running her fingers along the blade. She hisses, nicking her fingertip on the edge. “Never dulled. Forgotten, lost, but still as potent as ever. Still as full of promise. Of power.” Her gaze lingers on the blade, a look that Vera cannot quite decipher. There is hunger. There is need.

She wonders if this is what Misija sees in her when she begs the most on the edge, so close to getting what she wants that she might snap the whole world in two to get it.

Misija snaps out of her reverie, standing up. “Come along.”

Vera shifts out of bed, groaning from how sore her body is. She has been fucked through and through, but whatever compels Misija now cannot wait apparently.

They wind down the stairs, taking the hidden passages tucked away between the walls. Misija knows the place like she has lived here, breathed its dust for years.

“Here,” she says, budging a rusty door open. A grand hall opens up in front of them, with a vast tree in the middle. At its rooted, gnarled core rests a cool blue light, a light that Vera can feel across the room. It is…

“Divine.”

_Primal_.

Misija hands the sword over to Vera, closing her hands tightly around the grip. She unbuttons her shirt until she’s standing with her top half bared in front of Vera, the ripple of muscles covered in scars, all bathed in the cold light of the tree’s light. Each scar must hold a story, Vera thinks, suddenly wishing she had the time to peel each and every one of them out of Misija.

“Take the blade,” she says, her voice determined. “Sink it into my chest.”

Vera hesitates, a tremble starting in hands.

“You can feel it, can you not? The power it holds. What it can do to me.”

She nods, slowly. She can. It throbs with aether, laced through and through with crystals, with _faith_. A perfect tool to summon a primal with. It has been testing her already, each night.

She could drop it and walk away. She could plead with Misija not to. She has seen what primals will do to their vessels. She could snap it in two if she truly wanted, but instead… “Are you sure?”

Misija smiles. “I have dreamed of this for so long. Free me.”

“You call me strange a lot,” Vera says, stepping up to Misija. “I think you are just as strange as me.”

“Perhaps so.” Misija slings one around Vera’s shoulders, the other hand covering Vera’s. She guides the tip of the sword to her chest, the tip slicing open a thin red line between her breasts.

“ _And into the darkness we must go, together,_ ” Vera whispers, remembering a stray line from a poem she once read, long ago, in a different life. “ _And unto the world we emerge changed, forever._ ”

Vera drives the sword through Misija’s chest, feeling how it melts into pure light until it is absorbed into her. She trips backwards, down onto the floor, the rush of magic in the room strong enough to shake the ground. She alone bears witness as Misija _becomes_.

“May the Queen reign supreme.” Vera lowers her eyes, a chill travelling down her spine.

Misija’s laugh fills the room, echoing as the palace awakens around them.

* * *

Misija is resplendent as the Queen, towering above Vera as she lies on the floor, wearing nothing more than a set of golden chains interlocking and draping over her curves. A kept pet fit for a royal. A toy adorned by a Queen. 

“Hold your legs apart,” Misija orders, her voice deeper than before. Reverberating with power far more ancient than the walls that surround them. 

Vera pulls her knees up to her chest, parting them, _offering_ herself up to her Queen. Things have changed, and yet not. Misija still wants her, takes her, fucks her. Her mind swims with raw need, always. 

Misija spits on her cunt, though it is hardly needed. She is always wet and ready for her, always desiring more of her inside. Rubbing the spit into her, Misija presses a plug into Vera, larger than any she has had in her before. It’s so filling that she gasps for air as it slides in, fitting neatly in and staying put. 

Misija stands up and lights a candle, holding it in her hand as she circles around Vera.

“It was by candlelight I saw you, truly saw you, the first time.” She tilts the candle over Vera’s thighs, the hot wax dripping down and hitting her skin. Vera shudders, but the pain is familiar now. Even welcome. “I think I will always associate you with it. The flickering light that burns bright. Back then, I worried you might get in my way. I had plans for how to get rid of you. I did not have plans for you wanting to be here with me.”

“I’m full of surprises like that.”

“That you are.” Misija puts her bare foot on the blunt end of the plug, pressing it into Vera’s cunt. “Ah. Wouldn’t want it to slip out now, would we? After all, my court awaits.” She grins, wide and wild. 

The hot wax hits Vera’s swollen labia and Vera feels herself unravelling. She whines, surging upwards, her lips twisting as the heat builds and builds, wax drop after drop covering her cunt. Misija seals the plug into her, a cover of wax to keep it in, thick and hard. 

When she is done, Vera falls back on the floor, panting. Her clit aches, and Misija bends down just a little, tilting the candle so that one fat drop of wax lands on it. She sobs, an orgasm rippling through her so fast that she is shocked, and then her back goes soft. 

“Up on your knees.”

She does as told, her movements unsteady, gasping each time she shifts her hips because she can feel the large bulbous swell of the plug inside her. It presses, it fills, it reminds her constantly of what she has inside of her. 

As she sways on her knees, Misija stops to stroke her hair. Vera leans into the touch, moaning as Misija’s hands drift to the sensitive spots at the back of her ears, the tips of them twitching. 

“Good pet.”

She pulls Vera’s hair back, holding it up as she slips a cool golden collar around her neck. It closes tight with a click, Misija attaching a chain.

“Come along now.”

Misija yanks on the chain and drags Vera along, playfully. Vera falls into step behind Misija, each movement shifting the plug inside of her. Every step reminds her of how far she has gone, how far she has fallen. Just a Queen’s kept pet.

And she would not change it for anything in the world. She revels in it, every moment. To be kept and used and known like this, for all the deepest and darkest corners of her soul.

The throne room is full of _subjects_ , their eyes glowing blue. She is keeping court, her tempered thralls turning to watch as they enter. Hollow-eyed and controlled, but there nonetheless. 

Vera wonders how much they see of her. How much they will remember of this, the Warrior of Light with her pussy sealed shut with wax, collared and leashed. She thinks, vaguely, she would not mind being knocked down from whatever pedestal they have mentally placed her on. A part of her hopes they remember this. 

Misija is not one for speeches, but she looks out over the gathered crowd, pleased. She tugs Vera close, the jewelry on her body clinking. “Time to put on a show, pet,” Misija whispers in Vera’s ear. 

She sits back on the throne, legs spread. Vera crawls up to her knee, clinging to her leg with both hands, looking up at her with wide eyes. 

“May I please you, Queen?” The word is so delicious in her mouth that it sends a cold shiver down her spine, causing her skin to dimple into goosebumps.

She grabs Vera by the hair and pushes her face against her clothed cunt. “You may.”

Vera’s mouth is full of fabric, saliva wetting through it to taste the slick, and then the outline of her thick clit. She peels back the clothing, pushing it to the side, and licks a long stripe over her cunt. It is delicious and Vera whimpers from how good Misija is to her.

“Worship me, pet.”

She hardly needs to say more. Vera takes the clit between her lips and sucks it into her mouth, doing her best because she wants her Queen to have the best, always. And this is where she excels: serving her. Being hers. Being her good, kept pet. 

She sucks, she licks, she presses her tongue into Misija’s cunt and tastes how wet she is. She thrills at it, at how Misija’s fingers clutch at hair, a smug smile hidden between the folds. She looks up at Misija from under her eyelashes, eyes big and wet as she fills her mouth with that divine cunt. She could stay here forever. She could devour this moment into eternity. 

Yet Misija has other plans, tugging at the leash until Vera parts from her clit with a disappointed whine. 

“Greedy as always.”

She makes Vera straddle her lap and as she whines and grinds against her strong thighs, the muscles pressing against her needy cunt, Misija slips a hand between their bodies and pinches at Vera’s clit, still covered in wax. She cries out, burying her face against Misija’s neck and whimpering. 

“Does it hurt, darling?”

“Yes,” Vera chokes out. 

Her fingers move down, dipping between Vera’s cheeks and stroking at her rear entrance. 

“But you love it so,” she laughs into Vera’s ear. 

“I do, I do.” 

She has learnt the shape of Vera’s perverse desires so fast that she can do nothing but melt in her hands. 

“I know you are gifted in the arts of aether manipulation,” Misija says, a wicked smile on her face. “Weave me a cock big enough to fuck you with.”

Vera’s eyes widen in excitement, her fingers moving down between them, finding Misija’s clit. She has not done this in so long, but the room is thrumming thickly with aether, a vibration she can tap into without any effort at all. She draws from it, tugs it into shape in her hands and gently begins outlining. 

Having been given this power over what to form, she grows greedy fast, wanting it thick, wanting it long. Misija’s eyelids flutter half-shut, gasping at the sensation of what Vera is forming. The aether swirls, anchoring itself to Misija’s anatomy, wrapping around and pressing against her. Vera knows how to extend the lines of nerves into aether, making it an extension of her clit, and then she begins to give it a cohesive form. It grows firmer in her hand, more lifelike, and Misija looks down at her handicraft and laughs.

“You will split yourself in two on that.”

“I’m stronger than that.”

“Greedy little thing that you are. I’ll put you to the test.”

Vera smirks, confident and ravenous. 

Misija meets that smile with one just as vicious. “Turn around. I want them to see you. To know you the way I do now.”

Vera clumsily shifts her position, lower lip trembling as she stares out over the crowd. There are so many eyes, hollowed-out and blue, staring at her, taking her in. What will they remember of this?

( _Everything_ , Vera hopes. _Let them see me as I am_.)

Their eyes light up the dark as Misija drips oil down Vera’s backside, rubbing and massaging it into the cleft of her ass. She sinks two fingers in, the stretch delicious already, and Vera thrills at knowing she will be made to take it all. Her nerves are singing with pleasure even as Misija raises her up, and Vera has to brace herself on the throne’s armrests best she can. 

The head of the aether-cock presses against her anus, and Vera draws in a deep shaky breath, the sensation so intense. 

“Come on,” Misija coos from behind her, spreading her ass wider. “You wanted this, did you not? Or did your dreams get the better of you?”

“I can do it,” Vera grits between her teeth, pressing, easing, nudging. 

“I think this has served its purpose.” Misija reaches her hand between Vera’s shaking thighs and slaps her cunt, the wax falling off in pieces, before she digs her fingers in and pulls out the plug. “There you go. Empty enough to be filled up again.”

Vera sobs, shaking with how empty she is, but finally her body does relent, the head of the cock pushing past the tight ring of muscles. She lets out a relieved laugh, and slowly eases herself down. The cock fills her so well, and it takes many long minutes until she has hilted it completely inside of her. Once there, though, she leans back against Misija, covered in a sheen of sweat, and she gloats. 

“My appetite does not overreach, your majesty.” She drags her teeth along Misija’s jaw, shameless and reckless, caring nothing for what is proper anymore. She will take, just as Misija does. She will have what she wants, when she wants it — the truest lesson Misija has taught her. It is all there, ripe for plucking. Always.

“It strikes true,” Misija groans, her voice so deep and affected by what Vera has done to her that Vera laughs. “You are so tight… How can I feel it this well?”

“Your pet knows more than one trick.” She wiggles her fingers in front of Misija’s face, then reaches back and holds on to her hair, to the heavy crown, and pulls herself up the turgid length of her cock. 

Misija, never one to not match in the depths of depravity, reaches around and digs her fingers into Vera’s cunt, filling it up best she can as they wrestle for control of the rhythm. Misija wants it slower, deeper, and Vera already wants to ride herself in shallow thrusts to completion. She comes first, a toe-curling scream ripped from her as she drips all over the throne.

Seizing upon the moment, Misija holds Vera by the collar and presses Vera down the entire length of her cock. It does not take long before she too slips over the edge, and Misija comes with a deep guttural groan, thrusting hard up into Vera.

Vera is so debased, so messy and needy and exposed, and she is feeling _alive_. She laughs, wild and free and beautiful, just like her Queen.

Once they are both a tangled sweaty mess, cock still hard inside of Vera, Misija drags her fingertip across Vera’s chest. A stinging burn ripples in the aftermath of her touch, searing briefly — a pain so bright, so sharp — and then gone.

Vera looks down and sees a line drawn between her breasts, as blue as the light that shines in the eyes of their audience.

“Mine,” Misija mutters against Vera’s neck.

“Yours,” Vera replies, leaning back into her arms with satisfied sigh even as Misija begins fucking her again.

* * *

Vera quietly accepts fate as the dream crashes down, but she pushes back each time they say something she disagrees with. No, Vera was not broken for going with her. No, she was not _controlled_ , she was not _manipulated_. She went because she wanted to. It was as simple as that.

Vera went because she wanted to taste Misija’s lips and see what she would do to her. It is as simple as that.

They talk about clarity returning, but it never left Vera. They do not know her. Not like Misija did.

She passes all checks, and so many of them are eager and willing to simply just forget. She cares not. All she wants is to go to the holding cell where they are keeping Misija, and after enough pressure she gets her way.

Behind the bars, underneath a weak light that casts more shadows than illumination, sits Misija, hands folded and head slumped backwards. Her eyes open a tiny crack as she takes in who has come to visit her, and then close again. As if it would not matter.

It infuriates Vera. She wants to tear the iron bars apart, one by one, climb inside the cell and onto Misija’s lap, kiss and bite and slap her.

Instead, she swallows it all down, and crosses her arms. “They say you won’t admit to anything.”

Misija shrugs. “Why would I? All my crimes have been seen. I don’t care for forgiveness.”

Vera does not recognize her. So defeated, so… Different. It irks her, in a way she cannot fully understand. “I will free you.”

That, at least, makes Misija react. With a sharp bitter laugh. “Don’t waste your pretty head on such hopeless schemes.”

“I was being selfish. I saw something in you I wanted and went for it. Do you understand how rarely I get to do that? I don’t regret a moment of it.” Vera wraps her hands around the prison bars and glares at Misija. “I descended there with you, willingly. Everything you did I said yes to. All of it. Always.”

With a heavy sigh, Misija peels herself away from the wall and slowly moves across the floor. She reaches through the bars and parts the coat Vera wears. The mark burnt into Vera’s skin comes alive under Misija’s hand, for a brief minute — and then it is silent. 

“There is no power of it left in me. Be a good girl, Vera, and don’t come back.”

“No.” Vera grabs Misija by her wrist, holding on hard enough to make Misija gasp in pain. “You don’t get to decide that.” She brings the hand to her mouth and bites down on her knuckles, hard, glaring up at her.

She looks at Vera, something changing subtly in her eyes. A flicker of something familiar. There is fire still in her.

Good.

Spitting out her fingers, Vera doesn’t even lick up the drool on her chin. “I go where I want when I want. I want to be here. I will want to come back. Don’t think you can just push me away this easily.” She reaches through the bars and pulls at her collar, tugging Misija close enough so that she can kiss her through the bars. A kiss where she is soft and Vera is all teeth and possession and need, mixed together like a wild river.

Misija scowls as their kiss breaks apart. “I won’t bend my knee and worship you. No matter what you become. In the mud, a hero is indistinguishable from a villain.”

“I know.” Vera smiles, falling to her knees. “But I will worship you. Always.” For all that she did for her. For all that she pried open within her. She cannot do anything but. In her heart, there is only one Queen now.

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter is [@celestial_txt](https://twitter.com/celestial_txt) & [my carrd](https://celestial-txt.carrd.co/) is here.


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